int odour of smoke that clung to the room. Back of the
table a small safe embedded in the wall stood with its door wide open,
its inner drawer splintered as with a knife blade and hanging half out,
and below it a riffle of papers, many of them apparently legal
documents.

But the one object across which the golden beams of light fell as
though in soft caress was the motionless figure of a man lying upon his
back beside the table near the drapeless window. Across his face and
shoulders were the charred remains of what undoubtedly had been
curtains on that window. A three-socketed candle-stick filled with
partially burned candles which doubtless had been knocked from the
table was mute evidence of how the tiny flame had started upon its
short march. As to the man's injuries, a blow from behind had
evidently crushed his skull and, though the face was seared and burned,
though the curtain's partial ashes covered more than a half of it,
though the eye-lashes above the sightless eyes were singed and the trim
beard burned to black stubs, the face gave mute evidence of being that
of Frederick Cavendish.

In this grim scene a tiny clock on the mantel began pealing the hour of
eight. As though this were a signal for entrance, the door at the end
of the bookcase opened noiselessly and a man, smooth faced, his hair
brushed low across his forehead, stepped quietly in. As his eyes
surveyed the grewsome object by the table, they dilated with horror;
then his whole body stiffened and he fled back into the hall, crashing
the door behind him.

Ten minutes later he returned, not alone, however. This time his
companion was John Cavendish but partially dressed, his features white
and haggard.

With nervous hands he pushed open the door. At the sight of the body
he trembled a moment, then, mastering himself, strode over and touched
the dead face, the other meanwhile edging into the room.

"Dead, sir, really _dead_?" the late comer asked.

Cavendish nodded: "For several hours," he answered in an unnatural
voice. "He must have been struck from behind. Robbery evidently was
the object--cold-blooded robbery."

"The window is open, sir, and last night at twenty minutes after twelve
I locked it. Mr. Cavendish came in at twelve and locking the window
was the last thing I did before he told me I could go."

"He left no word for a morning call?"

Valois shook his head: "I always bring his breakfast at eight," he
explained.

"